


Ghosts of the Past

by as_with_a_sunbeam



Category: 19th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: 1835, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Post-Duel, Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 07:07:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10611780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/as_with_a_sunbeam/pseuds/as_with_a_sunbeam
Summary: Aaron Burr drags himself into the courtroom to represent himself in his divorce from Eliza Jumel in 1835. As he prepares for oral arguments, he finds himself face to face with the last person he expected to see.





	

Burr leaned heavily on his walking stick, practically dragging his right leg behind him as he made his way into the court room. He’d mostly stopped practicing after his stroke a year ago, but he didn’t trust anyone else to represent him in this divorce. Eliza Jumel was a woman scorned. He needed the best to see him through without losing his shirt.

He sat heavily at the long wooden table, resting the stick at his side as he took a long, deep breath. Sniffling slightly, he reached first for the water pitcher to pour a glass for himself. Next, he reached into his case and retrieved his notes and papers. Comfort followed this familiar routine. His shoulders loosened; his mind cleared.

He’d arrived early. He didn’t want the whole world to witness the difficulty he had navigating the steps and the short walk to the front of the court room. Waiting patiently, he flipped his glasses from atop his head to rest on the bridge of his nose and began to review the pleadings and mentally rehearse his opening statement.

The door creaked open behind him, but he paid it no mind, expecting it was the bailiff walking through the room before the parties and spectators arrived.

“Mr. Burr?” A male voice he didn’t recognize spoke from a pace behind him.

He looked up and found himself faced with a ghost. Sparkling, vivid eyes met his own, wary with an element of forced confidence, so familiar Burr could not properly draw breath. 

“Mr. Burr, Ms. Jumel has retained me in place of her former counsel. I did try to speak to you before the hearing, but I was informed you were taking time away from your practice.”

A strong hand reached out into the space between them. “Alexander Hamilton.”

Junior, his mind supplied at last. Not a ghost, simply the son of his former nemesis. He had a flash of memory, a little boy holding Hamilton’s hand, looking admiringly up at his father when Burr had stopped him to say hello in passing on the street one day. _Good day, Mr. Burr_ , the little boy had told him shyly, leaning against his father. Burr recalled smiling at the child and tipping his hat as he said, _And to you, young Mr. Hamilton_.

“Aaron Burr,” he replied, taking the offered hand and shaking it once, firmly. Just as he had on that morning in Weehawken, a hundred years ago. Just as he had outside the tavern, a century before that, when a thin teenager from the Caribbean accosted him on his way home from the library.

Hamilton junior was as strikingly handsome as his father, with the same aristocratic nose and arresting eyes. His hair was naturally grey and shorter than his father had ever worn it. Burr did a mental calculation and realized the man before him would have just passed the age Hamilton was when they’d faced off in New Jersey.

Burr wondered if anyone had commented to him about the remarkable likeness he bore to his father. He nearly blurted it out himself, catching himself just in time. He prided himself on his casual attitude about his actions on that July morning, but he wouldn’t do so here.

Hamilton’s eyes looked over Burr’s face with a searching scrutiny Burr had nearly forgotten. A beat of silence, and then the younger man either came to a conclusion or gave up the attempt.

“Sir, would you accompany me to a meeting room to discuss the case? Perhaps we can reach an agreement and save ourselves the unpleasantness of a trial. An amicable settlement agreeable to all is far superior to a victory agreeable only to one.”

Burr felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. “Wise words.”

“My father taught me that.”

“I know,” Burr replied. “He used to repeat it before every settlement conference.”

Silence hung heavy in the air. Burr felt as if he could see Hamilton’s thoughts playing over his face, his expression suddenly younger and more vulnerable. _Why?_ his piercing eyes seemed to ask, scrutinizing him again. _Why did you take my father away from me?_  

He didn’t know how to answer. Frankly, he didn’t know the answer, not anymore.

A tight smile crossed Hamilton’s face, and he asked, “Shall we, then?”

Burr pushed himself up from the desk, pushing the papers messily back into their folder,  and followed Hamilton to one of the side rooms, his pace laughably slow. Hamilton was waiting for him at the door, watching him with no expression. He held the door open and motioned for Burr to precede him in. The door clicked shut as Burr settled himself at the table.

Hamilton sat across from him, opened a neatly arranged file, and cleared his throat.

“Sir, I hope you’ll excuse a personal comment,” Hamilton said, looking up at him. Burr froze, holding his breath, waiting. “I want to extend my condolences for your daughter. I always thought her a bright spot when we were young. I was distressed to hear of her passing.”

Well, that was unexpected and…much worse. His throat closed up with grief as he remembered watching his young daughter playing with Hamilton’s children. He nodded his thanks, unable to speak.

Hamilton nodded back, then turned his attention back to his file. “Ms. Jumel has some demands, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

And just like that, the meeting became as typical as any settlement conference Burr had ever attended. They made offers and counteroffers, quibbled over details, tried to find alternatives to financial compensation, which Burr could not afford.

“No, I’m afraid Ms. Jumel will not accept that, sir. I’m sorry,” Hamilton sighed at last. He rose and held out his hand again. Burr struggled to his feet and shook his hand once more. “Good luck with your oral argument, sir.”

“And to you,” Burr wished as Hamilton stepped out of the room.

Burr nodded approvingly at the empty doorway as he gathered his strength to go back to the courtroom. He couldn’t imagine what that boy had been thinking as he prepared for that meeting. Yet, he’d handled himself professionally and cordially.

“Your father would have been proud,” he whispered. He had to fight down the little niggle of grief that welled up that he couldn’t tell the man that to his face—and for the fact that how that sweet little boy had turned out had been in spite of Burr’s actions. He shook his head as he gathered his papers once more. “Very proud indeed.”

**Author's Note:**

> So, there are some historical liberties (e.g., I don't think Alex Jr. really looked that much like his dad) and play references in this piece, but it is true that Alexander Hamilton Jr. represented Eliza Jumel in her divorce from Burr. That had to bring up some fascinating issues on the part of both of these men.


End file.
